


Arabian Nights - Jamescules (Hercules)

by CMDAK



Series: Arabian nights [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Butchering myths, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Possessive James Bond, Sly Q
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saddened beyond reason after the loss of his queen, James wants nothing more than to get revenge by going to war with the White King. Everyone is weary about that and his councillors advise him to rethink his plan, with no success. And yet his Quartermaster finds a way to delay him and force him to give himself enough time for his heart to heal, waving story thread after story thread, starting with the great Greek Hero.</p><p>Re-telling of the Disney version of 'Hercules'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story-within-a-story kind of thing and it will end up as a series because the main characters in the secondary stories will always be named either "James" or "Q" for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Please forgive all mistakes and enjoy :)

Their king was a hot-headed warrior who loved expensive things and his army of lovers, as well as fighting and seeing how many times he could get out of the meetings with his councillors before the head councillor reached his wits end and tied him to his throne. But their king was also king and caring, never raising the taxes before cutting on his own expenses and never going into a war unless it was absolutely necessary. That was what set him apart from all the other rules and what made him be so loved by his own people.

 

He had learned his kindness from his mother as the woman did what so many other queens didn’t and allowed her son to play with the children of peasants, taking him with her on her trips around the country and showing him how people lived, patiently explaining why each and every one of them was important.

 

His love of fighting had been instilled in him by his father, the former king famous for how many of his generals he had given accidental heart problems by constantly leading the first charge in a war. But the man made sure to explain to his son that a useless war was not a good war – no war was a good one, his mother would say softly, chastising her king – and that he shouldn’t go looking for one.

 

When the old king and queen died in that most unfortunate accident, everyone cried for days on end, but they did not fear for they knew the future king would be a kind one. And they all wanted to be happy and they all wanted to see him settle down with someone and produce an heir to the throne that they all hoped would be as kind as caring as his father – even though they were sure he was going to be rotten spoiled. So when they heard that King James actually found someone that he wanted to marry, they all cheered and got read for his wedding.

 

It was a grand ceremony were even the lowest of the low commoner was invited and sat at a table in the outer-garden and served expensive food, entertained by the three dozen bands of actors that the king had hired for them. The party lasted for three days and three nights and a constant flow of carriages filled to the brim of gift for the two newlyweds continued to enter the castle for a week after the whole affair was done.

 

Now since it was said that the king and queen never left their chambers, everyone expected to hear a happy announcement any day. But instead of that, what they got broke their hearts and had them shiver in fear because the assassination of his queen turned the king cold-hearted and made him thirst for revenge even more than for water or the wine that kept his eyes dry and his temper hot.

 

Gone were the days in which he partied until a new full moon reigned over the land, replaced by preparations for war – for the king was sure that it had been the White King who had killed his queen and the man had a huge army that was fabled to be invincible – and now it was his councillors who tried to get out of the meetings with him, often spending them on their knees, begging him to reconsider his decision and allow them more time to make sure that what he was so sure about was the truth.

 

But the king refused to hear them, their pleas doing nothing to soften his hardened heart and a week before he was set to ride out in front of his huge army for a battle from which he might not return, he threw a party in the honour of all the past and future fallen soldiers.

 

It looked more like a funeral than an actual celebration, the artists invited to entertain everyone looking like they were about to cry – and they honestly were because their once happy king’s army was formed of friends and family members that did not get a pardon for having being kissed by the God of Arts.

 

And their dreary faces indisposed the king greatly, for he slammed the table and ordered them out of his sight. “We’re here to have fun, not cry like our women,” the king roared, hitting the table with his fists. “Isn’t there anyone here that can tell me at least a story to keep me entertained until the sun becomes the ruler of the sky once more?”

 

Everyone glanced at each other in silence, much too afraid that tonight will be the fated night in which their king finally snapped and ordered someone executed to dare to make a single peep. And that angered the king even more and he put his hands under the table, ready to flip it over and demand someone to fight his sadness and boredom away until he heard a weak cough from the far end of the room.

 

“I think, my king, that I might be able to help you with that. I spin tales almost as good as I spin the thread of imagination and science,” the weak voice echoed around the room and the king signalled his guards to bring him the one who spoke.

 

James snorted when his eyes landed on the person brought before him, a thin young man with green eyes hidden behind some strange contraptions and brown hair that looked so wild that the king wondered when it was the last time he had brushed it. Though he tried his best not to laugh beyond that snort, if only because his clothes were old and worn out, the warm light from the torches bringing out the fact that the golden thread that was running through his shirt was outright missing in some parts of it – so the _boy_ was either a fallen noble or a poor peasant who had sold his land and soul to attend this party because he was too thin to be an actual soldier from his army.

 

“What is your name and rank, spinner of tales?” He asked when he noticed the way the man was looking at him, arms crossed over his chest to cover where most of the golden thread was missing, eyebrow arched. “And what gives you the right to gaze upon your king in a manner that only another crowned head might do so and only in private?”

 

“Only acting as a mirror, your highness,” the man said softly, bowing in a way that wasn’t entirely from the heart. “I gazed upon my king as he gazed upon me so if you see it as being disrespectful, then I fear that I must remind my lord that there was a time not too long ago when he did not look down on the people who offered him their unconditional love.”

 

The kid had more guts than his entire army, James would give him that. He sourly thought that the last person who had dared to point out that he did something wrong had been Vesper and he frowned. “There are kings who have killed for less, tale spinner.” People gasped in shock, but the young man continued to hold his ground, looking amused more than afraid.

 

“Lesser kings have killed for the truth, your majesty, but I know without a doubt that you are not among them. That is why I have offered my services to you, although I was not born on your beautiful lands.” He bowed again and this time it wasn’t in a semi-mocking way.

 

Humming, James signalled one of the servants to bring the man a chair and another one to bring him food and wine, noting the small smiles and concerned looks the servants had exchanged with the man. “Yes, your complexion reminds me of...” He trailed off and shook his head, hating the boy for making him think of Vesper and her people.

 

“Of whom do I remind you, my lord?” The boy foolishly insisted – although his eyes seemed to have a spark of great intelligence in them and James couldn’t help but wonder what the man was up to.

 

What if he was an assassin sent here by the White King? After all, Vesper had been killed by one of her subjects, a supposedly loyal handmaiden that James was still trying to decide how she should die. She looked harmless, as did this young man in front of him, but with Vesper’s blood all over her, she looked like a creature sent from hell.

 

“You are still a mystery to me, tale spinner,” James said slowly, eyes narrowed. “You dress like a low noble from my land, and yet you are not from here. You are at my party and yet you are too thin to be an actual soldier and too young to be a general. So tell me, spinner of tales, who are you and how did you get in?”

 

The man looked at him with disappointment, but no embarrassment or fear. “I have lived on your lands ever since I was seven summers old, my lord, raised by Major Boothroyd. We two even played together when we were young, although your majesty sees so many faces that I do not expect you to remember mind. I am not a noble, but a part of your army, serving in it as its Quartermaster.”

 

“But you’re so young!” James explained, sitting up and walking closer to him to see if everything was a trick of the light – it wasn’t. “I know the old man gave his place to another, but it couldn’t be you because you can’t be more than 18 summers—”

 

“Your Majesty, he is,” Major Boothroyd interrupted his king, bowing his head slightly when the man turned to look at him. “Everything he says is the truth and yourself as well as your army has been using his inventions for years.”

 

The armour had been lighter and the sword had been sharper, now that he thought about it. “But he is so young,” James insisted, pointing an accusatory finger at the man who looked like he was struggling not to huff or click his tongue. “I can count the spots on his face even if the torchlight is starting to fade.”

 

“I am a mere seven summers younger than yourself, your majesty,” the young – and apparent – Quartermaster said, teeth gritted, forced smile in place. “And I do not have spots.”

 

The hissed words reminded James of someone from his childhood, a scrawny young boy that walked around covered from head to toe as if he was afraid from the sun and who did not care about his rank and did not hold back from snapping at him when he thought his words to be wrong. “Oh, you’re that little child that couldn’t climb in a tree and always tricked me into carrying him on my back to the top of three.”

 

“A little child tricked your majesty into carrying him on your royal back?” The Quartermaster asked, his eyes smiling. “Perhaps I am not the great tale spinner I thought myself to be.”

 

“Q,” Major Boothroyd said in a warning voice and the young man instantly lowered his head, muttering an apology. “Your Majesty, he—”

 

“Your name is Q? And you’re the Quartermaster? Q, the Quartermaster?” James asked, laughing louder than he had in months – the only one who was laughing, but that was something that he would realize later. “Your mother sure has thought way ahead for you if she named you something so fitting.”

 

Q looked hurt, his green eyes shining with unshed tears and James felt a bit bad, pushing the chalice of wine away for him. He had never, no matter how sad or upset he was, and no matter what harsh words his subjects let slip about him without the knowledge that he was there, been cruel to any of them or punished them because he believed that everyone should be allowed to speak their mind – even if his councillors believed that this might lead to civil unrest, which had yet to happen. 

 

“Your Quartermaster does not remember his parents as they were killed when he couldn’t speak, your Majesty,” the Major said, berating James slightly. “As for his name, he realized from a young age that it was near impossible for us to pronounce it properly and since the only letter that I had confidence to say was Q...” He trailed off and let James connect the dots, walking to Q’s side to squeeze his shoulder.

 

Clearing his throat, James had the servants bring Q more sweets, as that was one of the ways he usually apologized – after all, his father had taught him that a king never apologized, not even to his wife, even when he was wrong. “A fitting name then and a lucky child for being blessed with a name that brought him luck,” James said, clearly uncomfortable, regretting that he had pushed his wine away. “You are a good Quartermaster that I will freely admit, but let’s see if you are a decent tale spinner.”

 

Q grinned then, getting more comfortable in his chair. “I am almost as good at doing that as I am at creating armour so light that your enemies think you’re riding into battle in nothing but your clothes.”

 

He spoke the truth when it came to the armour, James remembering the first time he was presented with the armour in question, the man who had been forced to tested out for him crying until the sword literally broke as soon as it came in contact with it. James had laughed and instantly put it on, surprised that it fitted him perfectly.

 

“Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” James asked, throwing himself back in his chair, resting his feet on the table before him. “However,” he added quickly before Q could start his tale, “I think we should make this a little bit more interesting, just so I can be sure that you are trying your best.”

 

“Interesting in what sense, my lord?” Q asked slowly, eyes narrowed – and who actually narrowed his eyes to his king? This Q was really a riot and had a lot of guts, but if he wasn’t careful, he could lose those guts.

 

“If I yawn even once out of boredom, you will lose your title and be paid as a simple servant while still inventing things for me and living in a little room until the day you can spin me a tale that entertains me and doesn’t bore me.” He didn’t know why he was compelled to add this to the mix, but the words were already said and there was no way that a king could take them back and maintain his respect.

 

“My lord, I must protest—”

 

“I accept,” Q interrupted his sort-of adoptive father, eyes shining of amusement, “and fear not, my lord, you will not get bored at all for my tale is of gods and demigods fighting to regain their identity, of thieves stealing royal hearts, of knights fighting giants for treasures beyond your imagination, and of worlds that only exist in our minds but that teach us of so many things which can be used in the real world.”

 

“All of this in just one story?” James asked before he could stop himself, something in Q’s calming voice making him move closer to him, all of his attention devoted to him – and if he turned out to indeed be an assassin, then James would leave this world applauding him for his mastery. “How can you get all of that in just one story?”

 

Chuckling, Q winked at him. “A good tale spinner can do anything, my lord. Just like a God, although I dare not compare myself to one. I especially don’t do that if I am talking about a god of old that also happens to be the king of all those gods in those times.”

 

“Afraid you’d be struck by lightning, Q?” James teased, a few people at the table laughing alongside him.

 

“One never knows, my lord,” Q muttered, bowing his head. “And since I will be talking about his extended family as well, I do not wish to risk the possibility of one such great being sitting besides us in mortal clothing and then deciding to punish me for being foolish enough to compare myself to their esteemed family.”

 

***

 

It was a joyous day in the supreme house of Gods when their king was blessed with the birth of yet another strong and healthy baby boy. The party the god had thrown in the honour of his little prince was so grand and loud that it shook even our world and all the gods in existence had been invited at this celebration. And almost all of them where genuinely happy for the boy’s birth and granted him their best gifts, wishing for the boy to be blessed by the fates with only the most loyal and best followers.

 

The one god that snarled and growled every time the baby gurgled was Alec, the two-faced God of the Underworld and Pranks. Many thought that he was upset by the brightness of the place, as Alec rarely left his domain, preferring the company of the departed souls over that of his esteemed elder brother – and king, of course – and the rest of his family, but that wasn’t what bothered Alec.

 

What bothered him was the fear that he might lose another title to his new nephew, since he had also been the God of War before his brother had child number five hundred – and the god of so many other things before the wretched Goddess of Fertility and Marriage started popping out children like she was a bloody rabbit. And by the way the power shone in this new loin fruit that made noise and moved, he was sure as the fact that every human would eventually end up walking through the gates of his domain that he won’t be the ruler of that domain for much longer.

 

“Alec, my most favourite brother; I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you after all this time,” the king of all the gods shouted on top of his lungs, the lumbering fool squeezing him before getting his foolish wife to shove their children into his arms. “How can you be so gloomy when you’re holding this ray of sunshine?”

 

“Believe me that I don’t have to try too hard to accomplish that,” Alec grumbled, his eye twitching when the runt shoved his foot in his left eye.

 

“Isn’t he the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” The proud father asked, completely missing the fact that his brother was trying to engulf the child in the blue flame he used to punish the souls of the humans who had been rotten while alive. “And he likes you, what joy!”

 

“Yes, simply wonderful. I can feel myself become... giddy about this future usurper getting attached to me like a hungry leech to a bleeding mortal,” Alec deadpanned, throwing the child back in his happy mother’s arms – he was aiming for the window, but Dionysus’ pure wine was strong enough to get even a God tipsy. “And what will you be calling this new pestilence that you unleashed upon this family? Because if you are in a stump, I have a few suggestions that I consider them to be more than fitting.”

 

The other gods glared at Alec, his nieces and nephews almost hissing at him, his younger brother and sisters shaking their heads disapprovingly, but the foolish brother just laughed and slapped his back rather hard, almost making him swallow his own chalice. “As usual, you are full of jokes, Alec. Many find your jokes cruel, but I know you never mean to insult or hurt anyone with them.”

 

And as usual, his brother missed the danger that was right in front of him. He kept on poking the already angered, venomous snake when he should have been running as fast as his feet carried him or order his execution. But unlike Alec who thought that someone could never change his ways, his brother always held hope that the one who had lost his way would eventually find it again with the help of family – and his judgement was even more clouded when it came to members of  his family.

 

“You know me so well, _brother_.” He snapped his fingers and a long parchment appeared in front of him, full of insults that he founded to be perfect for the bundle of agony that was currently attached to his back and tugging on his hair. “Right now, Leech would be the perfect name—”

 

His brother slapped his back again, laughing so loud that the child started to cry and the building shook around them, Alec checking to see if his ears had melted yet. “Yes, his mere presence does suck out all the sadness and sickness, as leeches do for mortals. How very observant of you, Alec. But no, we named him James.” And since he had the attention of a five-year old, the almighty god plucked his child from his back and went to one of his daughters to present her to her brother for what had to be the fifth time that day.

 

Alec rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have to put up with this moron every few hundred years and yet I am the bad guy for trying to ensure that he doesn’t bring about our destruction with his descendants,” he complained to Dionysus, the only one of his nieces and nephews he actually stomached.

 

The younger god snorted, tapping the side of Alec’s glass, turning the wine back into water. “If that is the way you see things, uncle, then I’ll save you of my presence and wine.” Before Alec could really make a move to stop him, Dionysus was gone and so was the only good thing at the part as far as the ruler of the underworld was concerned.

 

How he wished that he could simply puff away and return to his domain so he could plot his dark plans the peace found in a departed’s wail of sorrow and regret..

 

***

 

“Why didn’t he do just that?” James interrupted Q, pulling his fur coat tighter around him as the night’s strong and cold breeze put out a few more torches. “And how is it that the great god did not kill him instantly for attempting to kill his son? Did he really have so many children that one more or less wouldn’t really matter even though he threw this supposedly great party that shook the mortal world?”

 

He was becoming angrier by the second, but Q’s hands on his shoulders kept him from exploding. “Alec knew that the fire that burned the mortal souls wouldn’t really do anything to his nephew, as did the boy’s father who took that move as a completely harmless prank.” He started massaging his shoulders, sounding like he was fighting back a yawn. “As for why Alec didn’t leave... Well, imagine if your father had a brother that left in the middle of the celebration he threw in your honour.”

 

James hummed, seeing where Q was going with that. If he had an uncle who did that, than his father would have challenged him to a duel and not hold back. However, Q was talking about a god. “My uncle would have been mortal, just as my father was and just like I am.”

 

“The rumours I heard about you say otherwise, my lord,” Q whispered carefully, pulling back when James turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “However, no matter how upset and bitter Alec was, he wasn’t stupid enough to do something that might bring down upon him the combined wrath of all the other gods who were honestly happy for the boy’s birth. And again, his brother was their ruler; his power was far superior to what Alec had at his disposal.”

 

“So what did he do?”

 

***

 

Left without wine and forced to be surrounded by the people he considered to be the most annoying things in existence, Alec decided to play little pranks on everybody. The goddess of beauty bit down in an apple that gave her temporary warts, her tears almost flooding the room they were in, promising between sobs to send all of her lovers to shave Alec in his sleep.

 

“Daughter, you know how much your uncle loves pranks,” the king of all gods defended the innocent looking Alec. “I am sure those craters on your face will disappear by tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe by next week,” muttered Alec and then quickly hid under the baby crib, knowing that the goddess wouldn’t dare unleash her rage so close to her baby brother. “Honey Ryder, darling niece, now you will be sure that you husband and your one, two...” he trailed off and started to count on his fingers, just loving the way the woman turned red with anger.

 

“Alec—”

 

“Damn it, you interrupted my counting of your lovers,” Alec complained, rolling his eyes. “Now I have to start all over again.”

 

“I’ll turn you into a toad and then cook you and serve you to husband!” The goddess shouted on top of her lungs, her mother grabbing her and pushing her towards Dionysus before she could attack her uncle.  

 

The god of music cut his fingers and face when the string of his magical violin broke and he screamed so loud that he broke all the things made out of glass and a few eardrums – Alec had stuffed pieces of cotton in his ears in advance, hovering next to James when the other god finally rested his eyes on him.

 

When the god of war picked up his spear, it turned into a snake who did not attempt to bite him because it was one of his sacred animals – and Alec groaned and hit his head against the table because that had slipped his mind; he should have gone for an octopus. “Where is my spear, uncle?” The god roared, flipping tables left and right. “I want my spear!”

 

“Going by the statues that the mortal did of you, I would suggest looking between your legs, but given that I’ve seen you naked on the day you were born...” Alec trailed off and chuckled, wiggling his little finger for the other gods to laugh.

 

“I am in no mood for this, uncle,” the god hissed, towering above Alec, clutching his shield so tightly that it broke.

 

“Oh, is that the reason why your spear has to be that tall?” Alec mocked, picking up a banana and squeezing tightly until he turned it into mush. “This explains more than—”

 

The god of war grabbed his uncle by his throat and shook him. “If you don’t give me my things back, my brother will become the ruler of that wretched land of yours before he turns one month old,” he warned, his father intervening before he could make good on his word.

 

“Son, I think a scavenger hunt is an excellent idea,” the god said, pushing Alec away from his fuming nephew. “And brother, although I find these pranks of yours to be very entertaining, I think the others are growing weary with them.”

 

“Party killers, the lot of them,” Alec grumbled and sat down at his table, resuming is dagger glaring at his newest nephew.

 

By the time the party ended and they were all allowed to leave, Alec had grown mould and mushrooms on him – he was hoping to convey that he was bored to death and that he had started to rot, but his bloody brother refused to catch the hint and he had even broke off some of the mushrooms and served his guests with them.

 

“I’ll grow the poisonous kind the next time your wife pops out another brat,” promised Alec on his way out, groaning when he heard that annoyingly joyful laughter follow him all the way to his domain. “Why couldn’t he have been born a mute?” He shouted, his three-headed dog trying to somehow cover all of his ears with his paws. “Did daddy scare you? Daddy didn’t mean to scare you, Cerby.”

 

Something giggled from the right side of his throne and Alec sent a little fireball without even looking, two slightly singed imps throwing themselves at his feet, kissing his sandals. “We weren’t laughing at you, my lord,” the chubbier one screeched, his skinny companion quickly nodding.  

 

“Then were you, perhaps, laughing at my Cerberus?” Alec asked as he leaned back in his throne, his dog trying to catch the two imps in one of his three mouths. “Because you know that my poor baby is very sensitive.” He started caressing one of the creature’s heads while the other two were busy chewing the two annoying imps.

 

“Yes, I can feel how tender the darling Cerberus is,” the pudgy one gasped, trying to crawl out of the beast’s mouth. “Master, can you please tell him to stop chewing on my liver? I am not entirely sure, but I think it’s vital for me.”

 

Alec sighed and waved his hand, his faithful guardian dog disappearing before he could swallow the pests. “Why where you two hiding behind my throne? You usually do everything in your power to be as far away from me as possible when I come back from Tanner’s bloody perfect realm.”

 

“You see, your most ruthless—”

 

“I knew that he’d forget,” Solitaire declared as she walked in Alec’s field of vision, her two sisters clicking their tongues at the god. “Oh wait; I am the fated sister that sees that which has yet to be. I always forget that I can never be wrong,” she said between giggles, playing around with the eye which held their power. “Now start your foreseen grovelling because we have some life-threads to cut at five.”

 

“Yes, yes,” the sister who so the present agreed, nodding her head. “People aren’t going to end up here on their own, you know. We are the ones who keep you in business.”

 

“And for that, I am most grateful,” Alec said quickly, kissing their knuckles. “Solitaire, darling, I need your help with something.”

 

“I knew that,” the woman declared.

 

“Of course you did,” Alec grumbled, feeling himself getting annoyed again. “And I am pretty sure you already know with what I need your help?” The fate nodded and Alec sighed. It was going to be a long day. “But you have to admit that what I want to know from you is very interesting.”

 

***

 

Q sat up suddenly and stretched, yawning. “Well, my lord, the sun is rising and I have so much to do before your army leaves.” He bowed and started to slowly back away from James, eyes tearing up at how much he was yawning

 

“Wait, what did the god want from the fates?” James asked, jumping over the table to grab Q’s arm and keep him in place. “You story is not done, tale spinner.”

 

“I know, my lord, but just like the story, so are the soldiers’ weapons and I am so tired and cold that I fear that I might shatter my frozen fingers by accident—”

 

“Take a day off then and finish your story,” James insisted, taking off his fur coat and draping it around the younger man’s shoulders. “What harm can that do? We won’t lose the war if those bags under your eyes get smaller, but we might lose it if these sticks you call fingers end up broken.”

 

Q gasped, tugging his hand free so he could place it over his heart. “A day off when you are leaving for war in less than six days from today? If I make a single mistake while forging, I could cause the death of many friends and husbands. Or worse still, my lord could be the one wearing the faulty object and _you_ might die.”

 

The chances of that happening were really slim, because James was always given a golden armour with a crowned stag carefully carved into it. Still, the thought of forcing Q to walk around with blood stained hands made him feel slightly uncomfortable. “We’ll leave in two weeks, which should be more than enough for you to get a good day’s rest so you can spin the rest of the story tomorrow night,” he said after a moment, turning to glare at the councillors and generals who cheered. “But make sure to end this blasted story then!”

 

Q bowed, a small smile on his lips. “I will do my best to follow this command, my lord, but a story cannot be rushed, nor can it be shortened if you want it to be told in the right way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind words and Kudos. 
> 
> Please continue to enjoy :)

“You looked less dead today, story teller,” James said the second Q stepped in his private baths, amused at how the man stumbled between trying to bow, cover his eyes while also turning with his back to him in a manner that didn’t seem like an insult. “Oh, embarrassed by my nakedness Quartermaster?” He teased, regretting that he was too far away to see if the man was blushing or if the steam just played tricks on his eyes.

 

“I do not think that mine eyes are worthy of gazing upon your body, my lord,” Q said in a sweet way that sounded almost mocking. “And as there is an old law that has the eyes of the unworthy gauged and another law that cuts down the uncouth in half for turning their back to their supreme lord, I choose being cut down in half?”

 

James snorted, swimming closer to Q and noting that the clothes he had on were as faded and even more plain looking than the ones he had at the party – in fact, one could easily confuse the Quartermaster with a peasant who was one good deal away from almost being considered a candidate for the lower nobility. “What good do I have for a story teller if he’s cut in half? Would he tell me the story twice as fast?” James asked as he got out of the water, trying to walk in front of Q only for the younger man to continue to turn away from him. “How old are you again, Q?” James growled as he finally grabbed Q’s shoulders and forced him to stand still.

 

“You will have a dead story teller and you won’t ever find out what Alec, the Lord of the Dead and tricks did. Also, what good do you have for a Quartermaster that’s blind, my lord?” He countered, eyes closed. “Also, I am unable to swim, so if my eyes are closed, I am unable to move from the spot, lest you wish me to either drown or slip and hit my head and forget everything I know.”

 

“In which case, I’d have a mix between two halves of a story teller and a blind Quartermaster,” James concluded, releasing Q so his servants could dry him and properly dress him. “But you have yet to answer my question about how old you really are,” the king teased, tapping Q’s head once he was dressed. “I’m dressed now so you can look at me and keep your eyes.”

 

Q slowly opened one eye and then the other, flinching when James flicked his nose. “It would seem that Your Majesty would like the company of his jester tonight and not his story teller.” He made to leave, but James was quick to grab his arm and push him in one of the many large pillow chairs that were lying around the bathroom.

 

“I have waited more than enough to hear your story, Q,” James growled. “Enough with your veiled jokes and start using that mouth of yours to tell me what happens next.” James threw on a chair next to Q, a servant appearing out of nowhere to pour him wine. “What did Alec want from the Fates?”

 

“What do all creatures under the sun – be they mortal or unable to part with this existence – want from the fates: to know that which will come to pass.”

 

***

 

And what he found out greatly upset him, for Alec sat brooding in his throne room through the next two full moons. No one was allowed to enter in attendance and he turned away even his favourite nephew despite the large amount of alcohol the god had brought with him. Even when a little war started in the human world, he kept away from his usual dramatics and theatrics of popping up in the middle of the field before the God of War to let the humans know that it won’t be long before he saw all of them again.

 

Even his annoying imps grew worried and did their best to bother him to the point where he would try to – unsuccessfully for they were already of the world of the dead – kill them, but with no success. Alec just sighed and stared off into space while they continued to clown around or cling to his legs and beg to be punished.

 

“That James will bring the end of us all,” he declared on day, jumping to his feet and shaking the imps off. “And that foolish brother of mine will refuse to hear me out because his precious little baby would never,” he added, walking around as his flame engulfed everything in his path.

 

“Ah boss, you don’t know that for sure until you try,” the plump imp said, trying to pacify his lord.

 

“Yeah,” his brother agreed with him, floating behind Alec and trying to rub his back. “I mean sure, your brother is dumb and blind in normal cases and he might be twice his usual dumbness since its well known that you are very jealous with the descendants, so he’s naturally not going to believe—”

 

“That’s the point you bloody moron,” Alec exploded in the literal way, the two imps rolling around the burning room, trying to put the fire out. “But it’s okay, I’m okay, I’m calm,” he said quickly, rubbing his temples, the flames around him slowly dying down. “I have a plan to fix this and the plan will work, yes.”

 

It honestly sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that, but the two imps where smart enough not to point that out. “So, what’s your plan, boss?” They both asked in unisons, hugging each other tightly when the god turned to look at them, the intensity of the green in his eyes reminding them of the souls of those condemned to burn for eternity for their sins. “If you want to tell us, of course,” they fearfully added, yelping when Alec grabbed them by their necks.

 

“I don’t particularly want to tell you about this plan, given that you are amongst my most incompetent servants, but...” he trailed off and dropped them, slumping in his chair. “It pains me to say it you two are the only ones who could sneak undetected in my dim-witted brother’s land.”

 

“Are you sure about that?” The brawns of the imp due asked before the brain could stop him.

 

“Of course I am sure you buffoon!” Alec shouted, forcing himself to calm down before he blew up again. It was so annoying and embarrassing that his own creations managed to get the best of him. “You are the only ones who were created of things not of his or the human world. As such, you two are tasked with whisking the little ray of sun out of his crib and then do away with him.”

 

“Do away with... But your grouchiness, you can’t kill a god, no matter how young he is,” the smart imp intervened, rubbing his little paws.

 

Alec sighed and hit it over the head with his fist so hard enough that he pushed him through the floor. “Being a god myself, I am more than aware of that, you pest.” He was getting a headache which should be impossible because that was a human ailment – how he regretted creating these two, but this was the price he was paying for getting his goddesses mixed up and confusing the goddess of harvest with the one that had an affinity towards children.

 

***

 

“So the two imps are basically his children?” James interrupted Q, shooing the servant who was filing his nails.

 

Q shrugged, stretching his limbs and cracking his back. “I guess Your Majesty could see it like that, but not really. He wasn’t the one who breathed life into then and imps, unlike us, don’t really have souls or life threads. They can think for themselves, so they are more than golems, but they are still creations and not children.”

 

James hummed, eyes narrowed, and Q felt like the subject of parenthood was a sour subject of his king. He remembered a rumour that was going around shortly before the new Queen died and he cringed, wishing he had left the imps’ creation out of the story.

 

“Story teller, you need to use your mouth if you don’t want me to fall asleep,” James said amusedly as he flicked Q’s nose, pulling him back down on the chair. “And be quick about it because I feel a yawn coming on.”

 

***

 

“And what do you want us to do with the kid, boss? His god status won’t disappear if we take him out of his royal crib,” the smarter imp pointed out, earning himself another fist to the head.

 

“I know that, you simpleton,” Alec grumbled, rubbing his face. “However, if you take the little darling to the Tree of Mortality and he ate an apple from it...” he trailed off and grinned. “He will be a god no more.” He grabbed the two imps before they could say anything stupid, squeezing their heads hard enough to force them to turn into worms. “And if you point out that he has no teeth yet, I will be kind enough to point out to turning the apple into mush and feeding it to him also works.” He threw the two worms against the wall and wiped his hand against his robe. “He has to eat an entire apple, so don’t screw that up, and then make sure he suffers an accident.”

 

The two imps nodded and slithered out of the throne room, waiting for the sun to go back in its cave before sneaking in the palace. It was embarrassingly easy, but that would be something Alec would complain about and not his two imps. They were happy that they didn’t have to fight any guards and that the child just gurgled happily when he saw them instead of starting to cry – although they could have lived without the young prince tugging on their horns and smashing them into the ground a few times before he grew tired and allowed them to carry him away.

 

“Kid could lose a few grams,” the dumb one complained, wheezing as they made their way up the high mountain on which the feared tree grew.

 

“Or you could shift into a large and strong bird and help me fly him up to the blasted tree,” his companion grumbled, almost dropping the still sleeping child when the other turned into a large and strong bird that didn’t have wings. “One that flies, you moron!” he shouted and flapped his wings faster, trying really hard not to get smashed on the rocks below.

 

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” The dumb one asked, turning into a bird that could fly just in time to avoid pain, the child waking up to laugh and clap his hands, plucking a few of their feathers before sneezing. “The kid’s god a strong grip for something that’s not even one year old.”

 

“Not for long, so keep flapping.”

 

They managed to reach the tree just as a violent storm broke out and the two imps realized that the god above all must have woke up and noticed that his child was missing. Quickly, the two grabbed an apple and mashed it, fighting to get James to eat it. Of course you can’t make a baby eat something he doesn’t want to, so a few bits of the mashed apple ended up on them. But by the time Tanner finally found them, the glow of the god no longer engulfed his child,

 

“Oh, my boy,” Tanner said sadly with tears in his eyes, not taking any notice of the two shivering birds that were perched up on one of the tree’s branches, “I am afraid I cannot take you back.”  The baby frowned and started to cry, hitting the ground with his little fists, demanding that his father take him in the safety of his arms. “A hug is all I can—”

 

The two imps shot down and swopped the child away once more, flying as fast as they could so the angry god wouldn’t strike them down. They still go singed when they got struck by lightning and the god was preparing to strike them down again until his wife manifested right in front of him, her arms spread, and an ocean of sadness and tears in her eyes.

 

“Tanner, you’ll hit our child!” She shouted, throwing herself at him when she realized that he had forgotten what happened – the god had a memory that was shorter than his temper when he was angry. “He’s mortal, remember? You’ll kill him!”

 

His lightning bolt disappeared almost as fast as the two imps, the storm dying down to a drizzle and a light wind. But the two imps just continued on flying fast, at first trying to keep the crying and struggling child from falling until they remembered that Alec had asked for his mortal nephew to suffer an accident.

 

Of course, the imp that was lacking in the brain department just held on tighter to the child when his companion told him to uncurl his talons. “If we drop him now it wouldn’t be an accident, now would it? And our lord said this had to be an accident.”

 

Groaning, the other imp hit him over the head with his beak. “It was just a figure of speech, you—”

 

They flew right into a tall tree, dropping little James. But the child wasn’t dead and the goddess of luck – although lacking an actual body in the mortal realm – was still his aunt who loved him dearly, and she made sure that he reached the ground with only a few scratches on him.

 

His crying tipped the two imps off that he was still very much alive, but because they needed a few moments to pull themselves together, two mortals reached the child first. The woman picked him up and cradled him to her chest, trying to shush him as her husband looked over his wounds.

 

“The Gods finally listened to our pleas and blessed us with a child, Andrew,” she said excitedly, pulling out the chain that was around the child’s neck. “And his name is James; what a beautiful name, don’t you think so, Andrew?”

 

The man, happy to conclude that the child was going to be just fine, chuckled, kissing his wife’s brow and ruffled James’ golden curls. “The gods were truly kind to us, Monique. We shall light a candle in their honour when we get home.” He kissed the still crying child’s head, walking away just in time to avoid a tree falling on them, the two imps banging their heads against a rock.

 

“We’re so toasted when we get back to our lord and he finds out that the kid didn’t suffer that accident as a mortal,” the thin one whined, his brother in mud laughing and slapping his back hard.

 

“If he finds out, my supposedly smart friend, if he finds out. Which he won’t because I won’t tell him anything if you won’t,” he elbowed him to be sure that his point was made, which it had because when they returned to the land of the dead, they lied through their teeth and Alec rejoiced.

 

***

 

Q yawned and James frowned. “I don’t like it when you yawn,” he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. “I have a feeling that when you do that, it means that I won’t hear the rest of the story.”

 

Chuckling, Q rubbed his eyes. “But my lord, how can stories be told when the sun is rising and the birds wake up?”

 

James groaned and got up, grabbing Q’s face and gently moving his jaw for him. “Like this, only you also form words.” He stopped when he felt Q yawning and pushed him back in the chair, stomping out of the bathroom. “Fine, get some rest. But the second you wake up, you’ll eat with me and then continue with the story.”

 

“But my lord—”

 

“No more buts, Quartermaster; just sleep.” He stopped just outside the doors and clapped his hands, a few servants appearing out of nowhere, ready to listen to his every command. “Bring the Quartermaster, who is that tangled mess in the pillows over there, as many covers he needs to sleep.”

 

“But the sun—”

 

“Cover the windows so he won’t be bothered by it,” James added, still refusing to let Q say anything. “But make sure he doesn’t suffocate, or else I’ll use your heads instead of flags for my marching army.”

 

Q sighed softly and shook his head, looking apologetically at the scared servants as soon as James had walked away. “No need to go through all of that trouble for me. I’m going to sleep in my room so— ugh!” He almost bit his tongue when he bumped into two tall guards who looked like they were two masses of muscles with a face and swords.

 

“King James said that you are not to leave this room,” one of them growled – Q tried really hard to find a difference between them, but he had dropped his glasses – and threw him back in the fort of pillows – which had been made fluffier still by the servants. “So you stay there and sleep until you wake up.”

 

“No one can accuse you of not having _some_ logic,” Q whispered, sighing when the servants quickly covered him and tucked him in, a few others already nailing large and thick pieces of cloth over the windows. “This is really not...needed,” he added to a suddenly empty room, shivering when he heard the echo of his voice. “How is it that I can’t get anyone to listen to me even when I am the Quartermaster? What am I to do if I want to drink something and I am not allowed to leave this cage? The doors opened a second later and a servant presented him with a chalice of fresh, cold water, disappearing as fast as they had appeared. “I keep forgetting that this place is full of special walls with ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the internet, James' parents were named Andrew and Monique. And I changed the way Hercules was made into a mortal because wouldn't it have made more sense for Hades to trick Zeus into drinking that potion by mixing it in his wine at his son's party and then kill him? The other Gods would have been too shocked to do anything and if Hades acted fast enough, he could have gotten rid of the only two ones that actually were a threat - Athena and Ares. 
> 
> So magical apple it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will actually try to add the 12 tasks, even if the cartoon just glanced over them. But first, let's guide our hero in the right direction (and also reach minute 14 of the movie).

Q sat in front of the king with a strained smile, his twitching eye giving away the fact that he was doing his best not to start screaming or scold the crowned head. And James found that to be beyond amusing and only a bit insulting because he couldn’t understand what had happened for his young Quartermaster and – so far – favourite story teller to be annoyed.

 

“You are the first to have spent the night—”

 

“Day,” Q corrected him sharply before he could stop himself, flinching slightly.

 

James chuckled. “A friendly tip, Q: if your king says that you spent the night somewhere, even if the sun was in the middle of the sky, you spent the night.” Q’s eyes narrowed to the point of being closed as he nodded and James was even more amused. “But going back to what I was saying, you are the first to spend a prolonged period of time in my royal bathhouse although you are not in my _favours_.”

 

“What a great honour to befall one such as myself,” Q said drily, tapping his fingers against the side of the chair. “Would your majesty terribly mind if he never bestows it on me? That would actually be even a greater honour.”

 

The king’s amusement completely disappeared that moment. “I do not doubt that you have a decent house, courtesy of being my Quartermaster,” Q snorted and pretended to have sneezed, James narrowing his eyes, “but my bathhouses are surely way better than it.”

 

“Oh they are, they are,” Q was quick to assure him, “but they are still moist, they can carry an echo almost as good as an opera house which makes it terrifying when something drips, and don’t get me started on what a horrible idea it was to block out the windows because of how hot it gets during the day.” He fanned himself and ran a hand through his hair, James noticing just then that it was easily sticking to his forehead and fingers.

 

Q actually looked like he had been working in the fields for the entire day and that simply wouldn’t do because James had tried to repay the man. But his current state was something easily fixed, even if he had to have someone drag him back to the bathhouse – and by the way Q was struggling in the hands of the confused guards who were doing their best not to harm him it was clear that he did not like surprises.

 

“I’m not having you executed for wording your discomfort at being allowed to stay in a place that so many would have given their souls to simply see,” James said slowly, clapping his hands as they entered the bathhouse, a few servants appearing out of nowhere. “My Quartermaster is in need of a bath and made some clothes that are proper for being in my presence.” He kid, of course, as he never really cared about the way people looked like, but it was too amusing to see the younger man fume and glare at him.

 

“Hey, I can undress myself,” Q snapped at one of the women, groaning when the woman giggled and pinched the base of his neck, incapacitating him as if he was truly a cat. “That’s still healing, woman,” he grumbled, yelping when he suddenly found himself much too close to the king, the man turning him around so he could look.

 

“You got burned,” James murmured, fingers ghosting over the angry red skin. “Who did this to you?” He asked, clearly angry. “Guards—”

 

“I did,” Q said quickly, grabbing the king’s hand. “I’m a Quartermaster; I create a lot of things, all which I test myself to see if they work and some backfire quite horribly.”

 

James hummed and looked at Q for a moment before throwing him in the water, throwing himself on freshly brought pillows. “That’s a really stupid thing to do,” he concluded, laughing at the sight of the younger man trying to ward off the servants who were trying to wash him, yelping and clinging to his pair of pants. “Despite the godlike things you seem to create, you are only human; what would I do if one kills you?”

 

“I am no king and thus you don’t have to wash me!” Q continued to snap at the servants and James waved the servants away. “And yes, I am mortal and things do harm me, but the same couldn’t be said about the young god that the two imps whisked away from his cradle,” he said softly, only his head poking out of the water.

 

“Story teller, you are slipping,” James teased, starting to eat the grapes that had been offered to him on a golden platter. “You said the two imps made him eat that magical apple that robbed him of his immortality.”

 

Q swam closer to the edge, grinning, his green eyes shining in mischief. “That I did, my lord, that I did. But do they strike you as the kind of creatures that are competent enough to finish a task?” 

 

***

 

Alec had told the two imps to make sure that the little boy ate the entire apple. They thought they had managed to accomplish that and they were quick to report to the moody god that he no longer had to worry about his nephew as the poor child had suffered the purposefully accident and he was lost to the world forever.

 

But that didn’t work, of course. “You blubbering fools,” Alec roared, the world he reined over shaking with his anger. “I am the bloody _lord of the dead_ ,” he grabbed them and gave them a good shake, sticking his finger in one of their ears. “Do you know what that means?”

 

“That all the parties that you thrown are cursed to forever the lifeless?”

 

The world started shaking and the screams of the terrified dead finally died down, both imps looking nervously at each other. “I think you broke boss,” the smart imp uttered, trying to sit at still as possible.

 

“What? What? Did I not give the right answer? Should have said that he has a stiff competition for whatever goddess or demigoddess that catches his eye?”

 

Alec dropped them and wiped his hands on his robes. “I don’t know why I actually thought for a single fracture of a second that you two would be able to actually complete a mission.” He sighed and threw himself in his throne, rubbing his temples. “I have no idea why I am being punished in such a horrid way. It’s not like I am doing anything bad.”

 

“Well, boss, wanting to kill your newest nephew kind of counts as—”

 

A large boulder fell on top of the imp, Alec glancing at Solitaire who held up James’ life thread which no longer had the god glow to it. “At least the little brat is mortal now and the world is full of dangerous things, so I might end up seeing that shiny new soul of his coming down my river sooner or later. Sooner if I have anything to say about it,” he added in a low whisper, rubbing his hands.

 

“Just keep in mind, Lord of Pranks and Dead,” Solitaire spoke up, her sisters acting as her eerie echo as they repeated her every word with a fraction of a second of delay, “that if James were to walk in one of his father’s or mother’s temples all the gods will be able to talk with him and guide him back to his original status and immortality.”

 

Humming, Alec nodded. “Not like you let me forget about that,” he grumbled, offering the Fate a smile when he saw how angry the eye looked at him. “But fear not, I have—”

 

“A plan, we know,” all the sisters said at the same time and Alec was starting to get that mortal headache again.

 

***

 

“You stopped; why did you stop? You’re rested and the night is still young, so why did you stop?” James demanded, leaning over the edge of the pool to glare at Q.

 

Q pushed further away from the impatient king. “The water is cold—” James clapped his hands and ten servants appeared with large urns filled with boiled water. “No, no, my lord has got it all wrong,” Q said quickly, sitting up and showing off that while he was thin, he also had muscles and many more small scars littering his chest. “I wish to get out of the water and dress, if Your Majesty would be so kind as to allow me to do that.”

 

Frankly, James was tempted to have the young man sit naked in front of him for a few hours just to take note of how many scars he had and remember their shape, size, position, and colour. But he was sure that would cause Q to clamp up and refuse to carry on with his story, even if he would end up sitting in the smallest room James could come up with for the rest of his life, so he waved his hand and his most trusted servant – a woman who also tended to forget her social position within the world named Eve – appeared with an armful of clothes.

 

 “My own clothes, if you don’t mind,” Q said quickly and James noticed the way the two looked at each other, his story teller with his eyes narrowed and Eve with amusement and impatience, looking as if she was almost giddy with the prospect of touching the other man’s body as she dressed him.

 

“These are your clothes by order of the king,” Eve said softly, dropping the clothes on the ground and plucking a green tunic from the pile, holding it up for Q to see. “Do not worry about them not fitting you because I was with the royal seamstress while she was making them.”

 

Q’s eye twitched. “What did I say about sneaking in my room, Eve?” He asked and Eve chuckled, James realizing how hard he was clutching the cup of wine only when it broke in his hand – and he had no idea why he was doing that, if he were honest with himself. “Ah, I mean no disrespect, your majesty—”

 

“Then get dressed and continue with your story,” James breathed out, his voice a lot harsher than he would have wanted it to be. “I tire of this lover’s quarrel and I feel that I am about to yawn and you know what’s going to happen if I do that.”

 

Nodding, his Quartermaster rushed to get out of the water, clearly feeling awkward about being naked in front of so many.

 

***

 

There was an easy way to keep James from meeting his parents and that was to ensure the destruction of his parents’ temples. Of course Alec couldn’t destroy them without bringing down the wrath of his brother, but if he played a couple of worshippers just right, he could have them wave war against each other and trick them into destroying the temples themselves.

 

 

He didn’t even break a sweat doing that and he also got the added bonus of James’ adoptive parents getting so scared of the possibility of their precious accidental gift getting ripped from their loving arms all too soon, so they moved far away from the city they lived in, building a little house by the side of the sea.

 

Alec was sure that they would die of starvation, but years went by and James’ soul never crossed the river to his world. And of course it didn’t as his mother was a rare woman that knew how to sow and make beautiful pots and his father was a good carpenter and a lucky fisherman, so while James did not live the life of a prince of gods, he wasn’t exactly a beggar who was with one foot in the grave.

 

His parents loved him and did their best to keep him happy and safe, although they realized pretty fast that he didn’t really need their protection because James was unnaturally strong – and that was a very good thing because he also had the worst of luck.

 

The first major mishap, that also showed how strong he was, happened when he was just two years old. His mother had put him down in the garden and turned away from him just for a single second, which was more than enough for James to crawl right in the path of danger because he wanted to play with the rooster.

 

Of course the rooster opposed to that ridiculous idea but instead of pecking James’ blue eyes, he had hopped on top of the logs and the little baby started to climb up after him, managing to case the entire stack to start rolling down.

 

His mother heard the horrible noise and her heart stopped as she rushed to try and save him, only to watch in mute shock as her infant easily kicked and slapped the logs out of his way while the roster flailed around just out of James’ reach, hoping from one log to another.

 

“He is a gift from the gods,” his father said proudly after hearing his wife’s tale, ruffling his James’ hair. “I am not really surprised that he has been blessed with so much power. But we have to teach him how to be responsible and be extra careful that he doesn’t go down the wrong road in life.”

 

And they did just that, James turning out to be a fine young man that made every woman that passed him swoon and every man that was foolish enough to challenge him because they thought that they could best the fisherman’s son in a duel eat their words and dust. He wasn’t exactly trained in fighting, but he only needed to land one punch for the fight to be over – a careful punch that for him was little more than a tap against the other man mixed with the intent of pushing his challenger away so he wouldn’t kill anyone and upset his parents.

 

Not that his parents weren’t already upset with James’ display of power or his apparent ability to get something in the eye at the exact moment he was looking at a woman which always landed him a new girlfriend. “James, if you disrespect any of these girls,” his mother warned, tugging on his ear even though she knew he didn’t really feel it.

 

“Mom that hurts!” Bless his soul for pretending, the woman thought and tugged harder, dragging him away from his newest interest. “And you know I don’t do anything that might hurt them or their social status,” he reassured her quickly, offering her his best innocent smile. “I simply help them carry things and they offer me a cold drink of water as thanks.”

 

Huffing, the woman shook her head. “And sometimes, but just sometimes, the things you carry are the women themselves.” James glanced away from her, dusting his tunic. “I know they offer you kisses alongside those glasses of _ale_ ,” she continued and by then James had busied himself with carrying the cart and their old donkey, just so he wouldn’t have to feel his mother’s harsh glare. “James, you know you can’t use the peek-a-boo game to get out of this at your age, so put the cart and Martin down before anyone sees you.”    

 

“But mother, poor Martin is older than me and he barely manages to pull the cart anymore. You should only take me to the market and you know I’d have no trouble carrying you and everything you want to buy,” James insisted carefully putting the cart back down and flexing his muscles at a few girls who giggled and started to whisper to each other.

 

The woman slowly shook her head and caressed James’ face lovingly. “Don’t think that you succeeded in distracting me from our previous conversation, James.” James groaned and his mother tugged on his ear again. “Carelessly flirting will get you in a lot of trouble and if a soldier sees how strong you are...” She trailed off and shrugged, James gathering her in his arms and hugged her as tight as he could without harming her.

 

“Mother, the war is over,” he reassured her and put her down on the cart. “No soldier is going to care if I am strong or not and no one is going to dare to force me to join just in case the war starts up again,” he added before she could say anything, deciding to take a shortcut out of the market by lifting a building and pushing the cart under it before he himself walked on the other side. “So please stop worrying about that.”

 

“It is a mother’s job to worry, James.” She waited for him to put down the building before she started to dust off his clothes, trying to keep him distracted from the shocked people that had gathered to stare at them. “And what did we say about using these kinds of shortcuts?”

 

James lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not to do it because I could accidentally cause the market to get destroyed like the last time, or because I might scare the people who are out of town, or because the building might be too old and it might crumble. Though I don’t think there’s any old building left around for me to destroy,” he muttered and his mother just shook her head again, sighing as she kissed his forehead.

 

“James Bond!” The owner of the building shouted on top of his lungs, falling from the window right in the man’s arms and grabbing his tunic. “You destroyed all of my pots again, you menace! A lazy menace at that which makes you even more of a menace than normally because you cost me money just because you can’t be bothered to walk around the bloody building!”

 

“I didn’t mean to—”

 

The man huffed and hopped out of James’ arms, focusing his anger on the woman. “I knew he was trouble since you brought him in my shop when he was three years old and turned to dust every single thing I had for sale.”

 

“Sir—”

 

“No, don’t try to say that he’s not aware of his power because I sure that he’s very aware of it and doing it on purpose,” he interrupted her, yelling when James picked him up by the back of his tunic. “Tanner have mercy on my life and may Alec guide my soul in the fields of Elysium,” the man begged, flailing around like a fish on land, “this monster is trying to kill me!”

 

“I am no monster,” James growled, the shocked gasps and whimpers that came from around him subduing his anger even before he felt his mother’s soft touch on his shoulders. “I am not a monster,” he said again, weaker, shoulders slumping when he saw how fast the man broke in to a run the second his feet touched the ground, the old men that made up the city guard hiding behind their shaking spears that were pointed at James.

 

Even the girls that had seemed too eager to see how strong he was earlier, bashing their eyelashes at him and pointing in the general direction of their houses were not terrified and hiding behind their parents or equally scared – if not more if the puddles he saw under a few were a good indication.

 

And that fear made no sense because he had grown up trashing this city by accident and they all knew he never did it on purpose and that he never intended to hurt anyone. In fact, he put himself in danger to save them when something bad happened, be it from his fault or another’s.

 

“Am I a monster, mother?” He asked slowly, allowing the woman to push him in the cart. “Is he right in calling me that?”

 

“No, no,” the woman said quickly, urging Martin to go faster. “You’re not a monster, darling, and he has no right to call you that. I’ll talk with your father when we get home and—”

 

“Why is it that you two are so weak and I am so powerful?” James finally asked the question that his mother feared he always will, fixing her with his eyes. “And why don’t I look like either one of you? Not the eyes, not the nose, not the hair colour...” He trailed off and frowned, the woman knowing in that moment that she couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

 

“We’ll talk when we get home,” she said softly, patting James’ neck. “And not a word before that.”

 

Time moved differently for the two. For James, it was slow and a second felt like an hour, all the trees looking the same to the point where he stopped someone on the row to be sure that they weren’t walking around in circles. But for his mother, it moved in a flash, her heart almost stopping when she saw their house, tears spilling from her eyes.

 

“We’re home, so let’s talk,” James said slowly, his eagerness subsiding when he saw his mother crying.

 

“Let’s wait for your father to get home first, darling. This is not something that I can do on my own,” she pleaded between sobs, pulling James in a hug.

 

Scared that they might tell him something horrible about himself, James waited in his mother’s embrace, feeling insecure and weak for the first time in his life. He was almost on the verge of tears when his father walked in, the man getting scared when he saw both his wife and son clinging to each other as if the world was coming to an end.

 

“What’s the matter? Is another war starting? Did they want to force our James to join the army?” the man bombarded them with question, kissing his wife’s forehead and pulling his son to his chest – who was already towering over him, but the man still saw that little baby they found so many years ago.

 

“No, Andrew. He is asking _things_ ,” Monique said slowly, grabbing her husband’s hands, “about why he doesn’t look like us and why he’s so strong.”

 

Andrew sighed. “Well, Monique, we knew that this day was going to come,” he said slowly and pulled a chair. “Dry your eyes, woman, and let’s tell our son about the blessed day we found him for we only spilled tears of joy on that day.”

 

They told him everything. About how Monique couldn’t have children and about how hard they had prayed to the King and Queen of gods, about how they had gotten lost when a violent storm broke out and how happy they were they found him. There was no sign of anyone having been there prior to them, they explained when James asked if maybe they had seen his parents around or if they might have found something that belonged to them.

 

“It was as if the gods plopped you in front of us and once they realized what a wonderful child they had created, cried at having to let you go,” his mother said, covering his forehead and cheeks in kisses. “You are not a monster, James; you are a gift from the gods!”

 

James felt better after that, but he was also filled with curiosity. Which of the gods had created him? Had they given him a purpose? Why was he so strong? Was he even human? Was he mortal? It was clear that he could age and it looked like it was going at a normal rate, but would he one day stop and be forced to see everyone he cared for – which at this point, was only his mother and father since everyone in the neighbouring town now tended to run away from him, even if the girls still sent him _looks_ when they thought no one saw them – die?

 

Those weren’t answers his Monique and Andrew had for him and, with teary eyes, heavy hearts, a bag of ninety silver coins, fifty-three coppers, and two golden coins, topped with promises to send carrier pigeons as often as possible, James went in search for a temple that was still standing in hopes of getting the answers he sought after.

 

***

 

“You stopped again.”

 

Q hummed, nodding. “You have excellent observation skills, my lord.” If James was any other king, he would have either whipped, cut off his tongue, or outright executed Q for his impertinence. But James was James and the younger man’s ability to be sarcastic towards a king while in the presence of said king made him endearing. “Did those skills also pick up on the fact that the sun is already in the sky?” Or almost endearing; he was really borderline executable.

 

“I also noticed that you started to edge towards the door, as if the palace isn’t filled with guards and servants who could easily sneeze you back in here,” James shot back, rubbing his eyes and feeling just then how heavy his eyelids had become. “Don’t suddenly become annoying by trying to run out on your bet with me, Story-master.”

 

“I am simply enjoying watching the sun slowly rise above your castle’s walls and how the sky changes colours.” He sounded truthful and James dragged himself next to Q, looking at the sky for the first time in what had to be years. “I also love the way mornings smell and listening to the world waking up.” He closed his eyes and spread his arms and took a deep breath, smiling.

 

James turned to look at him, noting that the smile he had was exactly the same one that he had on when he was a child – his, meanwhile, become colder and more forced. It was also interesting to see how his alabaster skin almost reflected the colour of the sky and the still shy rays of the sun just bounced off Q’s messy hair that he had refused to let anyone comb or dry for him. His green eyes also seemed to change colours, but maybe the latter thing was caused by how tired James was.

 

“My lord, are you feeling okay?” Q asked from right in front of James, almost earning himself a head-butt and a knife to the chest. “Should I send for the—?”

 

“Don’t ever move so silently around me,” James snapped at him, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to shake away a childhood memory that insisted on breaking the folds of his subconscious. “I’d hate to accidentally kill you before you finish your story.”

 

Q furrowed his brows and he looked more amused than scared. “But you’d love to accidentally kill me after I am done?”

 

He was slowly moving in the ‘very executable’ area. “Perhaps, Quarter-teller.”

 

“Quarter-teller?” Q asked slowly, actually looking confused for the first time in four days. “What is that?”

 

“That is you because you never finish the story.” But he had to admit to himself that he’d hate if he fell asleep and lost parts of it and he was more than aware that if he forced the man to spin his tale when he was dozing off, he would do it wrong. “You can go to your own quarters and sleep for the entire day.”

 

Q bowed his head. “While my lord is kind, I will only rest until midday and—”

 

“Continue with the story?” James interrupted, slapping Q’s back. “Wonderful; I will even allow you to wake me up from my slumber.” He started to guide Q towards his rooms, the soldiers instantly waking up at the sound of their king’s voice, nodding as they were instructed to not stop their Quartermaster from coming to his room after being frisked for weapons.  

 

“I am waking up at that hour because I have to work on a weapon for your war, Your Majesty, not because I have a story to finish,” Q finally managed to slip in between the room’s description and what he was going to eat, and James stopped suddenly and turned around to glare that they bumped heads and the thinner man was – naturally – on the floor.

 

“So you’ll fall asleep even earlier tonight?” James snarled, dragging Q back up on his feet and pushing him in the arms of the always present and unseen servants because he was really grouchy when he was tired and betrayed.

 

“My Lord, I love telling you the story, but the war—”

 

“I am not as stupid or heartless as people suddenly think I am, but you have a way with words so I am actually going to hold back from starting the march until you finish you story.” He took a deep breath and calmed down a bit, but only for a second because when he looked over his shoulder, Eve was there, running her hands down Q’s body, checking to see if he was hurt. “All of you, out of my sight before I change my mind!”  

 

And he was left alone, the bed cold, the sky boring, the sun way too bright for his mood, while Eve and Q were probably discussing the shapes of the clouds or something silly and romantic like that on their way to Q’s chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual pie if you know why the donkey is named Martin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am 'amused' that I am not even at the 30 minutes mark time in the move.
> 
> Please enjoy!

The king had been locked up with his council in the war room for the past three days and Q was a step away from walking up the wall. Originally, he had been in the room with them, silently watching the generals discussing the possible strategies they might use to win the war that their King had promised to put on hold until the story was told. It was expected of him to come up with something mechanical for the plan that he thought best, but when the talks degenerated in the men pleading with the king to reconsider his attack, he was sent away.

He could have spent that time tinkering on his own private inventions or continue to create the blueprints for the previous attack plan that had been approved by the king, but he was worried that his plan of keeping the kingdom out of war and help the king get over his pain had been ruined. 

“You always got into so many dangerous situations when you were young, Q,” the major’s gentle voice came from behind him, his large and soft hand finding its way in his curls. “I don’t remember a single day of your childhood in which I wasn’t clutching my heart because of the brilliant, yet potentially deadly ideas that crossed your mind.”

It wasn’t his fault that things just looked interesting enough to be tinkered with until they were turned into completely different objects altogether. Nor did he really think that he could be blamed if he didn’t understand that it wasn’t a good idea to simply plop down in the middle of the road or room, take out a scroll from his back and his piece of charcoal and just draw.

“I never did it on purse,” Q said softly, carefully putting his tools down and tilting his head back to smile at him.

The major returned his smile, but then tugged on his hair, sighing. “But you’re putting yourself in danger on purpose now and I wish I was still strong enough to pull you over my knee and bring some sense back into that head of yours that I can’t really call empty.”

“It only looks like I am putting myself—”

“Yes, you are,” the major interrupted him, sitting across from him. “I’m sure that by now, you realized that the king is not himself and definitely not the one that you were friends with when you were a child. He thirsts for war; his blood is boiling for battle and all the stories you’ll tell him won’t be enough to keep distracted.” 

Q couldn’t remember a single instance in which the old man had been wrong, but he stubbornly refused to believe his words this time. He knew that somewhere deep inside, beyond the anger and pain, was still his lonely friend who was almost as curious as he was and who had a big heart. 

“I can reach him,” he said slowly. “My words, my stories… They can reach the true him and heal his heart.”

Boothroyd opened his mouth to argue, but the door slammed open and the king stomped in, anger clear in his eyes. “Quartermaster,” he growled as he grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet. “I grow tired of the stories told to me by my spies and generals and I wish to hear yours.”

***

James had travelled long and far until he finally found a still standing temple that was dedicated to Tanner. If he were asked, he’d say that tracking the one village that was rumoured to still have an intact statue of the god was a lot easier that actually getting to see the statue for himself.

His superhuman strength – which had he instantly revealed when he bumped into an old lady and her young, lovely niece crying in front a fallen tree because the fish they had bought from a neighbouring village was sure to go rotten by the time they went around the obstacle – proved to be anything but helpful. The village elders were sure that the strange, young man that could lift a three hundred years tree with no effort was, in fact, a clay monster sent by their enemies to crush their statue.

So James ended up spending two weeks in the barn of the old lady – getting poked in the sides with the end of a broom whenever he even so much as glanced for more than one second at her niece – trying his best to prove to the village that he wasn’t evil. But they sneered at him just the people in his own village, even though he struggled not to cause any serious damage, barely holding back from throwing tomatoes at his head because they were afraid that he’d easily break their necks and then go on a rampage.

The old woman knew where the statue was as she was the one who confirmed that yes, they actually do have a pseudo temple in Tanner’s honour, with actual artefacts and blessed objects from a few cities that worshiped the god, but she couldn’t tell him. “Not because I think you are a clay monster that had the breath of life given to him by another god,” she cleared up when James asked why, pushing him towards a bag filled with potatoes. 

“Then why can’t you tell me?” He pushed, starting to peel the potatoes. “The sooner you tell me, the faster you’d get rid of me and then you can stop complaining about all the brooms I break with my back.” 

She shook her head, tutting. “Child, it isn’t that I don’t trust you; I would love to get rid of you as soon as possible because then my niece would regain her brain, but I don’t want rocks thrown at my head for assisting you in case you end up doing something stupid and destroy something.” 

He couldn’t argue with her because while he tried his best to prove that he was good, he ended up accidentally breaking a few houses and statues. No one was harmed – thank Tanner – as he was fast enough and strong enough to drag the people to safety and he did insist on helping rebuilding the houses, helping them without them knowing it when he was inevitably turned down.

“Well, boy, is the today the day when are you going to trick me into showing you were the temple is?” The old woman would ask him every morning while she fed him and every morning he shook his head because forcing someone into assisting hi was nothing something he did.

As that first week came to an end, James considered leaving as nothing he did convinced the village elders that he didn’t want to harm everyone. But just as he was packing his bags – and trying to comfort the weeping niece without even patting her back because the old woman had a brand new broom with his name on it – water started pouring down. It was as if the clouds suddenly ripped and before you could blink, the river was overflowing and everybody was screaming for their lives, small ‘fortunes’, and their temple as it seemed that the cave it was hidden in was bound to be flooded. 

“I can carry it out to safety if you just tell me where it is,” James shouted over the rumbling of the sky. 

“But you—”

“Oh, what do we have to lose at this point?” The old woman asked, wobbling from behind of the crowd and grabbed James’ arm, tugging him forward. “Whether it’s him that destroys Tanner’s statue or the flood, it’s still the will of a god.” 

The eldest huddled in a circle and started to grumble, glancing at James every now and then, reminding him of the times when he was young and expressed his wish to join the other children in their games only to be rejected, mocked, and chased away. It actually looked like the elders were getting ready to choose to let the statue be lost to the water, but the second the eldest opened his mouth, lightning struck not a step away from him.

“Save our statue, clay monster!” The man yelped out, throwing himself at his feet. “We don’t have much, but—”

The old woman smacked him in the head with her cane. “He offered to do it for free, so don’t belittle him with your money offer.” Sensing that James was about to argue that – which would tarnish his pathetic public image that was just not getting a bit of polish – the old woman stepped on his foot and Tanner Almighty, James was frankly surprised that his bones were still intact. “Now, show him the right entrance and get out of his way before we all drown.” 

The right entrance to the cave was concealed by old trees with thick crowns and many giant rocks that while at a first glance looked like they belonged there, upon a second look it became more than clear that they came from different locations.

He easily pushed everything out of his way and the second he set foot inside the cave, the torches all lit up and the ground started to rumble, his insides feeling pleasantly warm. Was this what people felt whenever they set foot inside a temple? He was born in a city that praised Tanner so was that why he felt safe and whole?

Those feelings were what kept him walking even though lit torches veered to the right and that normally was a tip that it was a trap. Soon enough the tight corridor gave way to a large room and his throat dried when he finally gazed upon the god’s statue. It was nothing like he had imagined, the stone man on the throne looking more human than an actual god – and yet, there was a slither of magnitude beyond the peaceful face that almost made James want to kneel.

“I am starting to understand why the wars,” he whispered softly, drifting towards the statue even as the floor was starting to get covered in water. “You are…” he trailed off, resting one shaky hand against the state and he was momentarily blinded and deaf.

When the world finally stopped spinning and thought was returned to him, he was pushed u against of the now moving statue and James knew that wasn’t normal. “You are such a big boy now, James!” The statue was saying, the whole cave shaking as it jumped up and down, unbothered by the fact that it was slamming against the ceiling. And suddenly, he calmed down and he slowly raised him to his face, eyes too full of emotion for a simple statue. “How sad we are that we only saw you growing up.”

“Who is this ‘we’? And no offense, but why would you be sad because you only got to see me growing up?” James asked, walking to the edge of the hand, glancing at the floor to see how high he was and if he’d break anything if he jumped down and simply started to run – he had hoped that the water had reached a level high enough not to hurt himself as he really couldn’t bring himself to smash the talking statue to pieces even if it freaked him to the Underworld and back. “What are you? What am I? Are the villagers correct in calling me a monster or a clay creature, brought to life only to—?”

“No,” the statue cut him off softly, using a finger from his other hand to cover his mouth – and half of his face; how the hell had the villagers carried this thing in here? It was enormous and it definitely didn’t fit through the opening. “You are not a monster; you are our stolen blessings that were thrown in this horrible world, full of pathetic mortals who somehow always interpret wrongly the things we say.”

James pushed away the statue’s hand, turning to glare at it. “Aren’t I a pathetic mortal that just happens to be a tad stronger than the rest? You call me e blessing, but I see myself as a curse! So tell me, what am I?” He asked again, louder this time, his voice bouncing off the cave’s wall. 

Dust started to pour from the statue’s eyes and it pushed its cold face against the top of James’ head. “I would have crushed those who mocked you, but your mother took my bolts from me and said that killing them would only make things harder for you.” He hugged him to his chest again. “Darling boy, you are the child that someone stole from us while still in your cradle and cursed you with mortality.”

***

“Well, that was an amusing story,” James grumbled, crushing a few grapes and throwing them in an empty plate by his side. “But now he’s a god again and the rest has to be boring.”

Q chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “But, my lord, he ate the apple and just because he got in contact with his father doesn’t mean that he’ll suddenly become a god again.”

James snorted, cracking his knuckles. “It is said that gods can fix everything for those who are in their favour and you story is about the son of the God of all Gods; I am sure his father will just snap his fingers now and make everything better for him because they’re related and Gods are cruel like that.” His tone was bitter, the implication clear in it – he, a king of all people, that had respected the various places of worship that appeared in his kingdom and yet, when he fell on his knees and begged the skies above for mercy for his wife, there was none to be found. “So your story is finished, Quartermaster, and your house is safe.”

Q had to pick his next words carefully. “My lord, might I ask you something?”

“You already did,” James pointed out, eyes narrowed. “The way you avoid looking me in the face tells me that I won’t like what comes out of that petite mouth of yours.”

Q turned his eyes up at his king then, eyebrow arched. He was not afraid of what might befall him and the reason why his words had to be dipped in a bit of honey was out of worry for James’ subjects and the mournful king’s own life. “Is a king only a king because he was the son of one?”

James jumped up from his throne as if he was burned, throwing the plates of fruit to the side and pushed a sword against Q’s throat. “You dare imply that I am—”

“My lord, I asked what you believed,” Q said calmly, still looking his king in the eyes. “What makes a king a real king? Is he that just because of his royal blood? Or just by the fact that he has a golden crown on his head and subjects to worship him as if he were a god, rushing to do his every whim at a snap of fingers?”

“You’re walking a thin line between life and death, Quartermaster,” James snarled. “Who are you to question my right—?”

“I am not questioning your right, my lord,” Q cut him off again, resting his hands on top of the blade. “I am but a simple man, asking my king for guidance because your step-brother is also of royal blood and older than yourself by a few years and yet, I sit in your throne room and I am building weapons for your royal army, not his.”

James let out a shaky breath and backed away, lowering his sword, the hidden servants and slightly trembling guards giving out a sigh of relief on behalf of the Quartermaster. “I have started to hear rumours of people who would support Franz if he were to ask for the crown,” James said slowly. “Those same rumours speak of enemies offering this future usurper their support and that my wife...” He trailed off and threw his sword, throwing himself back on his chair. 

Q walked after him, sitting down – not kneeling – by the foot of the throne. “Those rumours are the type which you need to keep a close eye on, but also the type with which you must be careful not to let steal your mind.” He pushed some of the fruits back on their plates, smiling when he found the orange that had caught his eye. “Also, my lord, I beg you to know and believe that I would faster behead myself than even think about going against so much as your breath.”

He had stared his king dead in the eyes as he said this and for the moment, James silenced the paranoid voices in his mind that whispered of the many ways Q could kill him. It was true that Q was in one of the best position to end his life, but he was throwing himself in very dangerous situations while ignoring the ones where practically his assassination on a silver platter. 

Grabbing the orange away from Q – because the man who could easily take apart everything and put it back together after he had made it better, wasn’t capable of peeling an orange. “A king is made by his people and his actions.”

Q blinked, breaking into a huge smile and his eyes feeling with pride and respect. “If I feared for my life I would be forced to say that my question has no real answer, but because I do not I am going to say honestly that your answer is the correct one.” He took the peeled orange back from James and started to devour it, his king getting the hint and signalled a servant to bring food.

“Did your question serve any real purpose? Or did you put me through a silly test, as if you could have done anything against me if I gave you the wrong answer?” James asked and pointed towards Q, the servants bowing low as they placed plates and bowls on the ground before the Quartermaster, others quickly cleaning the thrown fruits and the cracked plates.

Q tilted his head back, smirking. “My lord, if you would have given me the wrong answer, I would have been disappointed in you.” He turned his attention away, his stomach growling as he looked at the plates and James understood that Q didn’t get the fact that the food was for him so he nudged him with his knee in the direction of a plate. “As for the purpose of my question,” he started to say after he had breathed in a chunk of meat, “just as a king is a made by his people and his actions, a god can only be truly created by the same things.”

***

James kicked a stone, the state of his father patting his back. “How can I become a god by the mortals’ own wishes?” He asked, running a hand through his hair. “You had to almost flood this place to get them to trust me with your statue. And even so, the only reason why they told me where it… you…” he trailed off, frowning. How was he supposed to address the statue? It was clear that the god had taken over it, so should he refer to it as a he? Maybe be more respectful towards this thing because he was talking to a god? His mother was sure to say that, probably tugging on his ear and tutting until he remembered his manners. 

He was distracted from his musings but the statue picking him up again. “Mortals are not the smartest creatures in the world, son.” He hugged him tightly, starting to twirl around the cave with him, crushing the pews and stalagmites. “I cannot help you become that which you were born as, but I can recommend the fearsome M, a great and wise warrior who has helped a lot of demigods and even mere mortals become what they were meant to be even after they had been forced off their right paths.” 

The statue squeezed him a few times, ruffled his hair – doing his best not to accidentally rip his head off – ignoring and made him promise to visit a temple dedicated to his mother before sending him off on his way, assuring him that the flood had completely stopped and he didn’t need to worry about the statue.

Naturally, when he came out, he was greeting with grumbles and disgruntled people because what did they care that this flood stopped? What if another one came and washed away their statue? He should go right back inside and move the statue to an upper level of the caves – which he agreed to only because they seemed to have forgotten about originally wanting him to take it out and because the old lady agreed to guides him to the right place just in case the torches didn’t device to act as a real time map again.

This whole thing ended up taking the entire day not because the old woman forgot where she was supposed to guide him but because it took a long while until he found just the right spot where the statue was supposed to stay and hey, as long as he was down here, wouldn’t it be just grand if he also brought over what was left of the pews and all the other sacred objects they had in there?

After that, the villagers begrudgingly threw a small dinner – not party or celebration mind you – for all his hard work and the innkeeper agreed to let him sleep in an actual bed – in the smallest room they had, but James wasn’t going to get picky about it because no matter how clean the haystack was in the old woman’s barn, a real bed was still a bed.

Not that he got to enjoy that bed for too long before he was dragged out of bed by a hysteric innkeeper and his annoyed wife, their kids running around them and ranting something about a house. “Man stronger than rock, come vanquish this demon before it devours my family like in the stories from the land of fog,” the innkeeper pleaded in a high squeaked voice, eyes shut tight as he pointed at something from behind him, his wife shouting at the kids to get down from somewhere.

It took James a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes, but what he saw didn't strike him as a demon at all. Before him stood in all of its glory a beautiful, white Pegasus that stretched its wings and let out a loud neigh when he saw him, seemingly posing for a moment before rushing over to him and starting to lick his face. “How can you call this lovely creature a demon? He's very friendly and all he wants is a belly rub, I am sure,” he said and on cue, the Pegasus threw himself on his back and exposed his belly.

This was more than the children needed because they were instantly around the animal giving him the coveted belly rub, their mother's hair almost turning white instantly. But to calm everyone down, James went to the horse and rested his hand against his snout, something whispering 'Aston' inside his mind. “The name fits you, Aston,” he whispered and the horse blew air in his face, jumping back up on his legs and showing him his back. "You want me to get on your back?" The horse nodded and ignoring common sense, James jumped on his back and the horse was in the air in an instant.

They flew into the night, looking as if they were going to disappear into the stars, but never quite reaching them. They cut clouds in half and Aston tried to scare James a few times by starting to free-fall, but he loved the feeling. He loved it when his breath was knocked out of him by suddenly starting to fall, he loved the way the wind smacked him in the face, and the way his blood rushed in his ears and heard only his heart - but he was disappointed that the clouds didn't taste like anything as he had always imagined that they would be sweet.

He saw a tall mountain in the distance and wondered how it would be to see the sun rising from its peak – something he assumed everyone who had lived all of their lives in the field wondered. Aston, if reading his mind, veered in that direction, James pushing his face against the back of his head and nuzzling it. 

Aston’s warmth made it impossible for him to keep his eyes opened and, together with the way he swayed with the wind, James was eventually lulled into sleep. But again, his sleep was cut short by someone poking him with a stick and he couldn’t say that waking up to a woman with a really sour face and fire in her eyes was better than a hysterical innkeeper.

“Do I look like a high priestess to some random god that has a very soft spot for lazy vagrants?” James had to wiggle his fingers to be sure that they weren’t frozen because her voice was so cold, he was sure she was the season winter incarnate. “Well, do you plan on answering me, boy, or is that concept much too advanced for your little brain?”

He grabbed the stick when she went to tap his head. “I doubt even Alec himself would have allowed you to serve as his high priestess.” 

Aston appeared out of nowhere, blowing air in her face. “So the runt finally wondered in a temple and the father sent the nag to dump him on my head.” She put her hand on Aston’s face and pushed him away, easily wrestling her stick away from James’ hand and poked him in the face with it. “If that thing eats my roses, I’ll be having myself some nice, Pegasus soup.”

Frowning, James got up and dusted himself off, tugging Aston behind him. “Who are you?”

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long cuss directed at the sky. “I am M, the person who’s supposed to train you.” She easily tripped James when he snorted, pushing the stick in his neck. “First lesson: don’t underestimate your enemies.” James grabbed the stick and broke it in half with no effort, doubling over in pain when the woman kicked him in the groin. “Second lesson: don’t think yourself infallible because even full gods have a weak spot.”

He was giving no time to breathe as the woman just threw at him a list of things she expected him to do by midday. The list was made out of trivial things, from chopping wood and arranging it into a certain way near the small shack she called home to going down by the river to catch only one type of fish.

“You are five minutes passed midday and that fish still has its scales on,” M scolded without as much as looking up from the scroll she was reading. “You move far too slow to get anything done on time, so the second you are done making me lunch, go in the woods and find a deer—” 

“How is making you lunch and dinner supposed to help me become a hero?” James interrupted her, throwing the bag of fish on a log. 

She rolled up her scroll and smacked him over the head. “It’s supposed to teach you what patience is since you strike me as the kind of boneheaded menace that rushes into things without thinking first.”

It was clear that she was lying through her teeth and James called her out on that, regretting it not even ten minutes later when the woman made him kick a bolder off the side of the mountain and then ordered him to fish it out of the river and roll it back up the mountain – to teach him the futility of asking her why she was told to do something.

“So, you are basically telling me to just listen to people without questioning them,” James concluded when he was halfway up the mountain, Aston looking beyond sour that he had ended up carrying M – something she insisted on as she knew without a doubt that the Pegasus would do his best to help his… master? Friend? Whatever James was to him; she was too old to bother with the fickle minds of gods and their offspring.

“No, you boneheaded ray of annoying sunshine and impulsiveness,” she corrected him, tugging on the flying horses’ mane in such a way that she made him kick the bolder out of James’ hands and then quickly grabbing the man’s neck to keep him from stopping it from sliding back down into the river. 

“It sure sounds like you are,” James argued and silently bemoaned all the hard – albeit useless – work he was now watching roll down the mountain.

“Always question when you feel something is off, but do it in such a way that it isn’t clear right off the bat that you suspect something is wrong as the consequences can end up being quite brutal.” She grinned her true lesson finally dawned on James and then smacked him upside the head. “Or at least do it in a way it isn’t rude. Now go bring that bolder back up before the sun sets and grab some fish from the river, unless you want to go to bed with your stomach empty.” 

She cooked for him for that first night and James promised himself to never let her do it again because he wasn’t sure if the woman hadn’t switched the fish for burnt wood or she was so horrible at cooking that she had managed to somehow make the food taste like that. 

“Do you live up here all by yourself?” He asked carefully because he curious if anyone cooked for her if he was to keep an eye out of a few hidden graves of all of her victims that had been dumb enough to actually eat her cooking – and also throwing the supposed fish at Aston’s head, who let out an annoyed breath because of that, when the woman turned away from him. 

“You’ve know each other for less than a day, boy, so don’t expect me to tell you my life story or think that I am interested in yours,” she said coldly, but her normally emotionless eyes were filled with pain and loneliness. “Make sure the fire is properly put out before you go to sleep and you’d best start building your tent because it looks like it is going to rain.”

James blinked because he really thought he was going to get a bed at the end of the day, but the woman laughed when he said that and then slammed the door in his face – also saying that if he dared to cut her fruit tree, she was going to cut something he held most dear. So James decided to use logs and trees that had already fallen, doing a horrible job despite the fact that he had been on the road for almost an entire year.

Morning came with a rude awakening in the form of a bucket filled with cold water. It was a good thing that James was the type of person who got used to things very quickly because that was going to be his wake up call from then onward, even if it was winter and he had been moved in the addition to the shack that he himself had built under M’s orders and very specific instructions. 

She’d have it tare all of his hard work down and start from the beginning if something was even slightly off, disguising what James assumed to be pure evilness and the satisfaction that she surely got from his misery as another lesson she was trying to teach him.

“Listen to what someone is telling you,” she’d berate him and push away Aston who she was constantly teasing with the apples she was eating – though she would claim that she didn’t tease the animal and that she was simply eating the bloody fruit; was it her fault that the thing was as gluttonous as his owner was daft.

“I am listening to what you’re saying and give Aston an apple already,” he’d argue, sighing when he’d get a fruit thrown at his head for all his trouble and an armful of Aston. “You know things would be a lot easier it you simply drew what you wanted from me, how many times do I have to point that out?”

M scoffed and glared. “And how many times do I have to say ‘as if anyone in the real world will outright tell you things in every situation you’ll find yourself in’, before you finally get it, god of farms and headaches?” 

Finally removing the last pillar if his eventual room, James sat down next to M. “M, be straightforward for once and please tell me how is this going to help me become what my father is? How am I going to become a god if I build houses and ‘understand what people say when they don’t say it out loud’?” 

***

“A very good question,” James interrupted, now on the floor next to Q. “How would all of that help him become a god?”

Q winked at him, his mind so dulled by tiredness that he wasn’t exactly aware of what he was doing. “Now wouldn’t that be an extremely short and boring story, my lord? If I outright tell you, you are sure to take my quarters from me.”

The king ran his hand through his face and down his face, exasperated. This man and his story, no matter how interesting it was, were beyond infuriating. His mind was so preoccupied with them that he couldn’t even properly focus on the war meeting and on getting his narrow-minded and blind generals to see things his way. He had even sent Q out of the meeting that was going nowhere because he wanted the man rested, almost popping a few of his veins when he was informed that the Quartermaster had locked himself up in his bloody workshop since he had been dismissed instead of relaxing in his room.

“Though it pains me to say this because it will surely prolong this tale of mortal gods and flying horses,” he glanced at Q and the younger man instantly read his mind, lowering his head and slowly shaking it as no, he couldn’t create something that would make his horses fly just like Aston, “I would most likely yawn at outright being given the outcome.”

“Then bestow me with your patience,” he said that word in a very sarcastic way, trying to cover it with an obviously fake yawn, “and permit me to continue with the story.”

***

Everyone had their eyes on young James, Hades included. Admittedly, he was busy with planning his plot and micromanage things, but every now and then he took a gander in the real world and felt himself close to exploding. “Are the gods seeing what I am seeing?” He asked no one in particular, but the Fates and the two blundering idiots he had for imps were right next to him to hear everything.

The Fates were smarter and busy with their own task so they kept their mouths shut, but the two imps proved Alec’s theory that imps did not, in fact, have brains. “Sure they are, your angriness! And they are all rooting for him,” the dumber one that got on Alec’s nerves said, missing the fat that the Fates had turned their eye on him and started to grin. “They have watching parties every time the mortal woman sets him off on a simple task, but you wouldn’t know that because they never invite—”

Alec put his hand over his mouth and dug his nails in his cheeks, lifting him. “I have decided that you need a name because you are too dumb to realize that when I say ‘shut up’ I am, in fact, talking to you.” He squeezed harder and glanced at the Fates, waiting for their verdict. 

“We’ve seen the past—“

“—we see the present—”

“—and we see the future,” Solitaire concluded for them, placing her other hand on the eye as well and taking hold of it as her two sisters shimmied behind her. “And we name him Boris, not for something that he was, or that he is, but for something that he will be.” She held the eye closer to him and then scoffed, turning towards Alec. “You have really got to waste our talents for something as useless as this. He’s still going to annoy you—”

“—just like he did in the past—”

“—and like he’s doing in the present—”

The fate that has yet to be silenced her two sisters, snarling at them when they wrestled the eye from her hands, slapping Alec’s hand off of her shoulder. “And before you ask me, no, the future has not changed.”

Alec threw the newly named Boris to the side and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his flame under control. “I am honestly doing my best here to change the outcome, you know, but it isn’t easy when I have to deal with stubborn morons who refuse to do what I bloody tell them!” He shouted and hit a table with small figures that stood before him, engulfing the room in flames. “Why, oh why, must things be so complicated for me?”

Boris’ friend covered his mouth before he could make things worse, head-butting so hard that they both passed out, but the Sister of the Present still answered. “There are some things in this Universe that even we can’t see and your horrible bad luck just happens to be one of them.” 

“I’ve been a good god,” Alec whine as the flames finally died down and threw himself over what was left of the table, blowing away the ashes. “I judged people correctly and I did my best to take care of decrepit kingdom of mine and…” He trailed off, grabby the mirror in which he saw his nephew getting slapped upside the head for not getting the point of something that was beyond obvious. “And they root for him because they’re bloody idiots and they want to see all of my hard work be blown away.”

“Cry us a new Stix,” the Sister of the Past grumbled. “Solitaire, do you see any future in which he shuts up, concentrates on his own tasks, and lets us do our job?” 

Alec’s eye and flames twitched as Solitaire started to play around with the eye, humming as her sisters chuckled. “From all the futures that I can gaze upon, I am sad to report that he will continue to do this.”

“Amusing, so very amusing,” Alec muttered bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t smite them out of existence. “I will give you the peace you crave so much—”

“Not for long,” Solitaire interrupted him, balancing the now glowing eye on her index finger.

They were more immortal than even the gods themselves, Alec reminded himself, so a direct full blast of his powers wouldn’t do anything else than annoy them and get them to abandon them, so he calmed down somewhat. “As I was saying,” he seethed out, grabbing a freshly remade doll from the rebuilt table, “I will grant you your peace of mind because I have more important things to be annoyed with, such as Nessus and that frail human which still does a better job than Boris!”

***

“And then?” James prompted when Q fell silent, scowling when he saw that he had fallen asleep. “I am starting to think that you find my presence boring, Quartermaster.” He was tempted to shake him awake and demand the rest of the story, but the poor thing looked like he wouldn’t wake up if the palace fell on him. “This is what happens when you work instead of rest,” he berated the sleeping Q, signalling a servant over.

“I am at your command—”

James shoved a fruit in the servant’s mouth, glancing at Q. “Don’t let a single person make even the smallest of noises in or around this room, understand?” The servant struggled to swallow the fruit, covering his mouth and nodding. “Good.” He took off his cape and threw it over Q, starting to walk towards the door. “And have the sauna ready when he wakes up and my masseurs; he’s going to need a good massage when he wakes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sisyphus - king of Ephyra (Corinth now) who was punished by the gods by being forced to roll an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, repeating this action for eternity.
> 
> If I named the donkey Martin, the Pegasus gets Aston and this concludes my very convoluted way of giving the Aston Martin a nod.
> 
> Boris is, of course, Boris Grishenko from GoldenEye.
> 
> Nessus - the centaur that actually killed Hercules in mythology.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to change the names of the gods for the fact that someone named Zeus could not have a kid named James.   
> Honey Ryder was the first Bond girl and she ended up as Aphrodite because her introduction to the audience.   
> I know Hades has no connection to pranks, but because Alec is the one stuck with representing this god... He's a tad more Loki than Hades and Tanner as Zeus is more Thor, but I tried.


End file.
